


You may have the Fever, but My Heart is Burning Up

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Series: Dork Drabbles [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble Collection, One Shot, Sickfic, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 05:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Finding Shirabu sniffling and sick is not the way Yahaba imagined spending his night, but that's nothing a little cuddling can't fix.





	You may have the Fever, but My Heart is Burning Up

Yahaba raps his knuckles against the door again. The dull sound echoes through the silent house. “Shirabu?” He tries the doorknob, dread pooling in his stomach when it opens without resistance. Shirabu always keeps the door locked. “Shirabu? I’m coming in.”

Ditching his shoes next to a pair of sneakers that looks suspiciously like Shirabu’s, Yahaba follows the dim hall light to a dark dining room, illuminated only by the screen of a laptop. Shirabu sits slumped before it, eyes closed. “You’re alive, right?”

Yahaba pokes Shirabu’s cheek, sighing in relief when he mumbles, “Five more minutes, mom.” But, no, something still isn’t right. Yahaba brushes Shirabu’s hair back and presses his hand against a forehead that is sweaty and hot. Shirabu blinks up at him, his normally pale skin now colorless. “Shigeru?” he sniffles.

Cheeks reddening, Yahaba tries to ignore the tingly feeling in his chest at hearing his first name and says, “You should be in bed, sleeping beauty.”

Shirabu looks at him through unfocused eyes for a long moment before turning back to his laptop. “I need to finish this paper.” His hands tremble as he reaches for the mouse, only to miss it entirely.

Yahaba sighs. “You’re too sick to be this difficult.” Rolling up his sleeves, he watches with a fond smile as Shirabu fumbles with the keyboard and types out some kind of gibberish vaguely similar to a key smash. _This idiot. _

“Alright.” Yahaba wraps his arms around Shirabu’s waist. “Up we go!”

Like a docile cat, Shirabu stares at him with wide eyes as he’s hauled out of his chair. “Huh?” Shirabu’s weight hits Yahaba full force, but, straightening his back, he maneuvers Shirabu’s arm around his shoulders and half drags him to the bedroom.

“Stop”—Shirabu struggles weakly—“you’ll get sick.”

“So you admit you’re sick!”

Shirabu tries to argue, but, ignoring his protests, Yahaba flops onto the bed, dragging Shirabu down with him.

“I’m contagious,” Shirabu says, his stuffy nose making his words sound almost like a whine.

“I’m immune,” Yahaba assures him, patting down his hair. “And I’m not leaving your side.”

Shirabu glares, but his eyes flutter closed. Like a light turning off, the resistance leaves his body, and he falls asleep against Yahaba’s chest as quickly as he’d woken up. Humming, Yahaba pulls the covers over them and kisses the side of his head. “You’re such a loser, you know.”

Closing his eyes, Yahaba yawns. “My favorite loser.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is a continuation to this fic:


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